


Broken Oaths Have Their Price

by soseta



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gang Rape, Multi, Raped In Every Hole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18458729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soseta/pseuds/soseta
Summary: Surviving the Red Wedding was not a mercy.





	Broken Oaths Have Their Price

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dentalhygienist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dentalhygienist/gifts).



Lame Lothar Frey was not good for very many things, nor much more respected in his own family than he had been by outsiders, but when he stabbed her in the belly at his sister’s wedding he achieved by mistake what he could not have hoped to do deliberately. Talisa woke from the merciful oblivion granted by milk of the poppy in fractured moments, to find a band of hasty crooked stitches, looping swollen black against the fevered redness of the wound. It was not how she, or any other healer of Volantis, would have done it, but it held. As she came more to herself she knew her womb to be empty, and wept for her lost child, but the bed in which she lay was warm, and the women who attended her were not unkind, and she allowed herself to sleep, and to heal. Her rescuers would make themselves known in time. Had she known the truth of what had happened, and what was to come, she would have ripped the stitches out with her own fingers, but by the time she truly woke the wound was a jagged scar, already knitted into solid flesh.

After a few more days of being gently, but firmly, fed thin broth by a young girl too witless to answer questions, she was surprised to hear men’s voices outside the door. She didn’t dare hope it was Robb, he’d lain so still on the floor beside her in her last memory, but perhaps his uncle Edmure, or even Brynden, the Blackfish himself. Yes, it would have been the elder Tully who had saved her, where he had been unable to save his own niece -- Catelyn must be dead too, she realised, or she would have come already -- and now he had brought her to his home, and of course he must have been very busy trying to rally what was left of the Stark forces, it was no surprise he was late in coming to see her, though surely one of the women could have brought her a dress to wear, rather than receive him in the thin shift she had been wearing for who knew how long.

The door opened, and Walder Frey walked in, followed closely by Lothar and the bastard Black Walder Rivers. “Hello, my dear,” Lord Walder said, in his creaking, old man’s voice.

Talisa tried to rise from the bed, but it was too late, Black Walder shoving her roughly back down, and anyway, there was nowhere to go. The only door was shut, and she could hear now a raucous laughter that signified still more men outside, and none of their intentions good. The only window was an arrow slit; she could not have fitted through it as a child.

She was still a queen, she reminded herself, Queen in the North, nothing these traitors and murderers could do could change that, and she would not disgrace herself or her family by begging. If they killed her now, she would at least see Robb and little Eddard again in the next world. “Lord Walder,” she said, as calmly as she could.

“My Lady,” he said, waving his arms and nodding his head in a ludicrous parody of courtesy. “Don’t get up.”

“I must ask you what your intentions are,” Talisa said, shrinking back into the pillows and away from Lothar and Black Walder, who had seated themselves at her knees on either side of the bed. The Freys had spared her life, seen to it that she received healing, perhaps they regretted their crimes. Or at least hoped to ransom her back to her own family. They must know of the legendary wealth of Volantis, and surely the Maegyrs would pay handsomely, even if their daughter had disgraced them by running away.

“Oh, my dear,” Walder said again, in his creaky voice. “Only the most honourable. We find ourselves in a similar position, you see. You are a widow. And I myself, most unfortunately, am once again a widower. I thought we might reach an arrangement.”

Talisa stared at him, astonished. “Is this a joke?” she asked at last.

Walder looked around the room, at his two sons, at the halfwit attendant, who Talisa realised now must be one of his many daughters, and finally at Talisa herself. “No?” he said, smiling, “Not at all. I told your late mother in law I would find another bride, and I see no reason why I should look further afield when you are right here. And as I told your dear, departed, husband, a man will overlook many things, honour included, for firm tits and a tight fit.”

Talisa flinched at the crudeness. “Impossible,” she said. If they forewent the ransom and killed her now she did not care. “I will never marry you.”

“No?” Walder said again, and the smile was definitely now a leer. “A pity. But then again, there is no need for ceremony to sample the wares.”

With speed that belied their lumbering stupidity, Lothar and Black Walder seized her arms and dragged her down to lie flat in the bed.

“What are you- Stop!” she demanded, struggling against them, but they were very strong. The pillows slid haphazardly off the bed, and the blankets tangled around her legs. “What are you doing?”

“Is it not obvious?” Walder asked, and as he approached her he was unbuckling the belt of his tunic.

“Do not do this!” Talisa shouted at him, still struggling. “It is monstrous.”

Walder laughed, and threw off his tunic, clambering clumsily onto the bed on top of her trapped legs. “I’ve already killed my liege lord, a guest in my house,” he said. “Do you think there is anything I dare not do?”

“Please,” she whimpered.

“I’ll need a little help to get started,” Walder said, pulling his manhood out of his trousers. It was small and limp, shrivelled with age. He kneed his way up the bed to sit on her chest. “Open your mouth.”

She shook her head fiercely, but Black Walder grabbed her chin with one of his massive hands and held it tightly, fingers digging in. Lothar, across her body from him, pulled a dagger from his belt, and held it to her exposed throat. It was very sharp, she could feel the skin break from the lightest touch, and she found she did not want to die after all, not here, like this. She opened her mouth. Walder was ninety years old. It would not take very long, surely.

He pushed his soft prick into her mouth with his hand. It tasted of stale sweat and unwashed linens. He pushed against her feebly for a few moments, then slapped her face. “Get to work.”

Tears springing from her eyes, she began to suck him. Soon enough, he began to harden, and then to thrust. Even his small size was enough to choke her, positioned over her as he was, and she coughed and flailed at him.

He pulled free, prick engorged and red now, and shiny with her spit.

“Thank you my dear,” he said, and his voice was breathy now with desire. “And now to try that fit, see how tight dear King Robb left it. I assume he was at it night and day, no?”

“No, please,” Talisa sobbed, “I can finish you with my mouth, I’ll make it good for you.”

All three men laughed. Walder didn’t bother to answer, just moved down a little, prick bobbing obscenely, and ripped her shift open with his hands. “The tits _are_ firm!” he crowed, and Lothar and Black Walder, who had been avoiding looking at their father’s manhood, both leaned forward to gawk. Walder took her breasts in his hands, squeezing cruelly, gnarled fingers digging into the soft flesh, thumbs raking harshly over the nipples. “Oh, yes!”, he said. “Well worth breaking your word for.”

He moved further down, untangling the blankets from her legs, and casting them aside, pulling the remains of her shift open. Talisa clenched her legs as tightly as she could, but he managed to get the fingers of one hand between them. She struggled, but he was not gentle, uncaring of her fragile flesh, and stabbed two fingers between the outer folds of her sex. He probed clumsily, cracked nails scratching at her, then found his target, fingers forcing their way cruelly inside her. He cackled wildly, in triumph, then snapped at his two sons, “Help me, you good for nothings!”

Black Walder and Lothar each seized one of her knees in their free hands, and pulled them apart. She struggled as hard as she could, but they were far stronger than her. Lord Walder shifted between her now open legs. He looked up the length of her body at her, smiling lasciviously, then moved to position himself at her entrance.

“No, please,” she breathed one last time, and then he was stabbing at her, fumbling, the head of his prick glancing over her, slipping along her folds. He huffed in exasperation, took it in his hand, and guided it to her sex. The head slipped in a little way, he moved to adjust his weight, then he pushed in further, fingers still scratching at her, holding her open and finding his way in another inch. With one final push of his hips, he forced himself inside her. Even at full hardness he was not so very large, but she was dry, desperate to be rid of him, and her inner walls clenched, trying to push him out. He settled his whole weight on her, shoved hard, and his full length entered her. She cried out, from the humiliation as well as the pain.

“Yes, that’s good,” he said, beginning to move his hips. “That’s very good.” He thrust in and out, at times fast, like a humping dog, at others slow, like the ricketty old man he was. She clenched her eyes shut, hard, and tried to imagine herself elsewhere, but he would not stop talking, reminding her who and what he was, and then Lothar and Black Walder, relinquishing their places at her head, no longer needed, shifted to seize her breasts, playing with one each, slapping at each other, forcing them together and apart. All three of them conducted a running commentary over her as the rape went on, comparing her to other women they had had.

Walder finished at last, with a grunt and a sigh, and collapsed on top of her. She gritted her teeth and told herself she had survived, he would leave now, and did not allow herself to contemplate the thought that he might come back. At last he moved, a watery trickle of semen following as he pulled himself out of her. She shuddered at the feel of it, but felt relief at being free of him.

“She _is_ tight,” Walder said, admiringly. And then the words she had not in her worst fears hoped to hear, “You should try it.”

“What? No!” she cried, starting to struggle again. “You’ve had your way, now let me go.”

“Oh, no, dear,” Walder said, tucking himself away. “You insulted my sons as well as me, when you and your husband disgraced their sister. You have to answer for that too.”

“No, please,” she begged, all pride gone now, “Please don’t.”

Walder shifted to the chair beside the bed where he would have an unimpeded view. “Get on with it.”

Black Walder moved to take his father’s place between her legs. He looked huge from her prone position, but before he could do anything Lothar shoved at him. “I should be first,” he whined. “I’m the true born son.” Black Walder laughed and shoved him aside, not even bothering to answer. Lord Walder laughed from his chair, and waved a hand. Lothar subsided to wait his turn.

Black Walder needed no assistance, kneeing his way between her legs, and unbuckling his belt at the same time. His prick sprang free, already erect, scarlet with arousal, jutting from his body like a living, animal thing. He seized her thighs in his massive hands, pulled them further apart, and fell upon her, prick moving between them, seeking its goal. No clumsy probing from him, he found her entrance immediately, and with one mighty shove of his hips he forced the entire length inside her. His father’s seed eased the way just enough that she did not tear, but the pain was terrible as the huge organ sheathed itself inside her.

He lasted far longer than his father had, setting at first a steady rhythm, pistoning inside her for what felt like forever, then slowing, shifting, finding a new angle that allowed the head of his prick to reach even deeper inside her, stabbing up against the entrance to her womb. She moaned with the pain of it, and he laughed. “Too bad there’ll be no more brats for you,” he grunted out, breathing heavily from his exertions, “I could put one inside you right now, a bastard’s bastard, with a queen for a mother.”

Talisa screamed and flailed, and tried to strike at him with her hands, scratching at his face, but he just laughed, and kept on pounding, his pelvis slamming into hers, bruising her, and his prick inside reaching everywhere, leaving no place untouched, unsullied. At last he came with a mighty roar, unleashing a flood of hot semen that she could feel deep inside. He didn’t soften, just kept on fucking her, his prick now making a wet, squelching sound as it slid in and out, but at least it hurt less now, until finally, finally, he withdrew.

Lothar barely waited long enough for his brother to move out of the way, before he was on her. His prick was even smaller than his father’s, and he shoved it inside her without ceremony. She barely felt it as he began to move, balance terrible with his lame leg, sprawling over her, to grasp at her breasts again, clutching at them as he moved his hips feebly against her and thrust weakly. “She’s not tight _now_!” he shouted in frustration. “I told you I should have gone first!”

Black Walder laughed again, and Lord Walder sighed in exasperation from his chair. “Must I think of everything?” he demanded querolously. “She has another hole! Use that!”

Lothar nodded, and pulled out of her. Talisa braced herself, and prepared to suck him. It would not be so very bad.

Black Walder leaned over to help his brother. Together they seized her shoulders, turned her over onto her stomach. Her stomach lurched, and her head reeled in confusion. What were they doing? Black Walder picked up one of the abandoned pillows from the floor and shoved it under her hips, and Lothar moved behind her, and only then did their intentions become clear.

“No, please,” she begged. “You can’t, you can’t, I’ve never-”

“ _Never_?” Lord Walder crowed with excitement. “The Young Wolf never tried the back entrance? I thought him far smarter than that. You’re in for a treat, my boy.”

Talisa tried to get up, struggled to get to her knees, but Black Walder pressed down on her shoulders with all his considerable weight, forcing her face down into the bed. Behind her, Lothar moved into position between her legs, used both his hands to pry her clenching buttocks apart. She tried to breathe, did not know what to do, or how to brace for the assault. Lothar positioned his prick at her entrance and pushed feebly, but her body resisted him. She felt relief for a single moment, and then his hand was scrabbling at her sex, still wet with his father’s and brother’s seed. His fingers curled inside her, scooping out a sample of the mess, then shifted to smear it down the crack of her arse and over her hole.

He managed to get a slippery finger inside her, not gentle, and stabbed it in and out a few times, pulling at her flesh to loosen it. After a few terrible moments of that he shifted, and she felt his prick against her again. It might be small, but it was rock hard, hot, and pulsing angrily. Black Walder shifted his hand to press down on the small of her back, and Lothar shoved as hard as he could, and the first inch or so of his prick pushed inside her. It burned terribly, and she gasped for the breath punched out of her, but the linen of the sheets was in her mouth, and she was choking, and still that was not the worst of it.

Lothar withdrew his prick, slathered more spilt semen on it, then forced his way back inside. He made it in this time, she could feel his stones pressed against her inner thighs, and she clenched her teeth against the pain and waited for it to be over. He sawed back and forth for a few minutes, the drag of his prick against her clenching inner walls an agony, and then at last it was done, it was over. He came inside her, and collapsed on her back, and she allowed herself to relax. They had had their way, had their final revenge against Robb for his slights, against her for being beautiful where their daughters were ugly, and now they would ransom her, or toss her out into the yard to make her own way through the countryside, she did not care either way.

At last Lothar came back to himself, shifting off her and climbing off the bed. Black Walder pulled her back over onto her back and looked at her approvingly, swollen cunt still somehow seeping fluids, now mixing with the puddle from behind. “I think she’s ready,” he said.

Ready? Ready for what?

The door opened and a long line of Frey men and boys began to file their way into the room. She recognised Stevron, and Olyvar, and Ryger Rivers, but there were dozens more she had never been introduced to, nor paid any attention.

“It’s a very good thing to have a large family, my lady,” Walder Frey said cheerfully. “Between them all, my sons and grandsons will see to it that you are never lonely. And even if I do find another wife, I’ll still come see you from time to time.”

She started screaming then, and didn’t stop.


End file.
